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Authors: Evelyn Glass

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BOOK: Dirty Secrets
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CHAPTER

 

Helen didn’t squeal, but she did grab Zoey’s arm and give it an eager little tug, which had basically the same effect. “That’s good?” Zoey asked.

 

“The private rooms are all equipped with—god, Zoey, every toy you can imagine. There’s stuff to clean them out there, too, and condoms, and lube, and the fact that he’s getting one now, didn’t have one set up already—he’s not assuming anything—”

 

“You’re not upset about me disappearing?”

 

Helen snorted. “Love, I brought you here so you could stop talking about getting a spanking, and actually get one. You have fun.” Her eyes skated over the patrons. “I know some people. I’m sure I won’t lack for a good time.” She caught Zoey up in a big hug, and Zoey melted for just a moment. “If you need me, and I’m not out here, tell Chris. He’ll take care of you, or find me, whichever makes more sense.”

 

“Chris?”

 

“The bartender.”

 

“Okay, sure,” Zoey said. And then the man was back. Helen gave Zoey’s hand one more squeeze, and then Zoey threaded her hand through the man’s outstretched arm and let him lead her through the tables towards a dark hallway on the far wall of the club.

 

It was felt like prom, like being the queen of everything. She felt envying eyes glaze over her, excited for her and jealous of her, as he led her back. She kept her spine straight and her eyes forward, taking in the little details as they walked.

 

The man led her down a hallway with walls painted a deep royal blue, and into a room appointed in lush black velvet. There was a bed, covers turned down, a rack of assorted toys, displayed almost like in a toy shop—whips, flogs, dildos, vibrators—and restraints. Her heart started to slam around in her chest like a frightened rat in a cage. The man shut the door behind her, and she turned to him. Her only thought was to fling herself at him, push herself into his arms before she could panic and frighten herself into running away.

 

Before she could complete the motion, though, he slipped into the room. Across from the bed there was a small table, two chairs, and beside that, a mini fridge. He opened it, took out two bottles of water, and set them down on the table. “Care to sit down with me?”

 

“Yes,” she said. The gin had gone to her head—and, worse, to her stomach—and she thought water sounded like a good idea. Something to settle her down, to calm her. She sat across from him, remembered to keep her knees together—and then didn’t worry about him. Let him see the flimsy excuse for panties that Helen had insisted would go perfectly under this skirt. It didn’t sound like a bad idea.

 

She did kick off the wedge heels with a happy sigh. She hated heels, no matter how good they made her calves look. She always felt like a piece of meat in them.

 

“This is your first time at Chez Vous?” He was polite enough to ask it like a question, but Zoey strongly suspected that her first-timer status might as well have been tattooed on her face.

 

“Yes,” she said.

 

“Do you mind me asking what brings you here?”

 

She sighed. “I’ve tried every other way there is to meet men with no luck. My friend said she could get me an invitation, and I thought, why not.” She laughed, but he didn’t. Typical. “Sorry, I’m being flip.”

 

He gave a shrug, which did interesting things to his muscles underneath the shirt. Zoey was fairly sure that if—when—she got the fabric off his shoulders, she wouldn’t find a guy underneath who was cut like a bodybuilder, but she also was fairly sure his build would be strong, athletic, lickable. “It’s a perfectly legitimate reason. For all that Marie likes to talk about anonymity, there are lots of people who’ve met here, enjoyed themselves, and eventually gone on to be very happy couples.”

 

“But not you,” she said, reading between the lines of his tone and what she could see of his expression.

 

He spread his hands. “I’ve yet to find a single woman who is everything I want. I’m sorry to be that blunt about it—”

 

“—it’s perfectly legitimate,” Zoey said, echoing his tone. “I don’t generally do poly myself, but I don’t have any problem with casual. I’ve been—I don’t know, on the market for a while, and if nothing else, I want to clear out the cobwebs.” She laughed at herself. “As they say. Um.”

 

He was grinning, and she had the sense that she’d satisfied some criteria he’d had in mind. “Fair enough. And what is it you’re looking for?”

 

Sex? Probably not the response he’s looking for.
“You mean in terms of—” she gestured at the toy rack. He nodded. She could feel her cheeks heating up, and she cursed her cheeks, and their traitorous determination to tell the world every time she was even a little bit embarrassed. Or aroused. Or anything. “I’m kind of a novice with all of that. But, uh, a very interested novice.”

 

His eyebrows went up again, and his grin widened. “Excellent. And would you like penetration to be on or off the table tonight?”

 

Her pussy clenched, and she let out a little gasp. If his eyebrows went any higher, she was pretty sure she’d have to call the fire department to retrieve them from his closely cropped black hair. “On,” she said. Her voice was breathy and faint, and she cursed it, but he was moving now, standing and reaching out a hand to her. His fingers closed over hers, tugging at her, and cursing was the last thing in her mind.

 

He guided her arm up around his neck, than ran his fingers down the underside of her arm. He used just enough pressure that it didn’t tickle, but it did make her shiver. She let her head loll back, and he took that as invitation, pressing a series of kisses all along the curve of her neck. One arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her tight to him, and the other stroked up and down her side. Between the shirt and the corset, she could only feel the pressure of his fingers, nothing more.

 

His tongue and his teeth dipped lower, into the cleavage the corset created. He nipped at the mounded flesh of her breasts, and she let out a little hiss as her body clenched again. “Good so far?” he asked, his voice shockingly analytical given the heavy weight of his cock hardening against her hip. “Not too much?”

 

“Perfect,” she whispered.

 

“If I hurt you, or if you need me to stop or slow down—vegetables. Does that work for you?”

 

“What?”

 

He chuckled. “Can you think of any reason you’d start talking about vegetables during sex?”

 

“Decidedly not.”

 

“So, if you start yelling about tomatoes, I know that you’re not playing along with something I’m doing, you’re signaling me to stop.” His teeth came to her breasts again, and she dug her fingernails into his neck, hearing his answering hiss.

 

“Tomatoes are a fruit,” she said, as his tongue slipped inside of the fabric, brushing over her areola.

 

CHAPTER

 

He picked her up with an ease that made her squeak, then tossed her onto the bed. He let one hip lean to the side, just enough to look like a model, as he unbuttoned his black shirt. He didn’t take it off, just let it hang loose around him. She’d been entirely right about his physique. He didn’t have a six pack, just a trim, healthy appearance. That was awesome. She hated it when a dude looked like he spent more time at the gym than he did actually living.

 

He lay down next to her, and she reached her hands inside of his shirt, sighing at the warmth of his skin against her palms. She reached up to kiss him, but he dodged her, going for the sensitive skin under her ear again. She shifted softly, letting her thighs slip apart, and trailing her nails down his back.

 

“There are a million things I can think of to punish you,” he whispered, taking her earlobe into her mouth, his fingers trailing over the expanse of skin below her skirt, flirting delicately with the hem. “Tell me what you deserve.”

 

Her skin, from head to toe, shivered in response to his demand. The few times she’d tried to get a boyfriend interested in this kind of play, they’d shrugged and asked her what she wanted, and it was like some switch flipped in her brain. Not only did she not want them to do whatever she’d been fantasizing about, she didn’t even want to have sex.

 

Being asked what she deserved—her cunt was soaked. “I’ve—I’ve been a bad girl,” she said, trying out the words, surprised at the flutter of response in her clit.

 

“You have,” he agreed, nipping down to her breasts again, scooping her flesh out of the corset and taking his teeth to her nipple. She gasped, her hips rolling against the air as he worked the peaked flesh with his tongue, grazing his teeth over it. “I think I might need to punish you,” he said, after a moment, gripping her to him almost savagely. “Since you’ve been such a naughty, dirty little whore.” His fingers skimmed up her thigh, pressing over her mound. He didn’t reach for her clit or try to slip into her cunt, just cupped her pussy in his hand. She rocked against him, gasping at the pressure, whimpering when it disappeared. She wasn’t sure when she’d last gotten this turned on this fast. She suspected she might come just from him blowing across her clit at the right moment.

 

“Yes,” she murmured, her head tossing against the pillow as he kept the pressure on her mound, his mouth suckling her nipple again. Her hands still touched his back, but they wandered his flesh almost aimlessly, focused on what he was doing to her. “Yes, I need to be punished.”

 

“I think you need to be spanked,” he said, and she could hear the question in his tone.

 

It wasn’t something she’d ever specifically fantasized about, but right now, that was okay. He was playing her body like a fiddle, and she was fairly sure he was responding to signals she didn’t even know she was giving off. She didn’t mind just trusting him right now. “Yes,” she said. “I think, yes.”

 

“Take off your skirt,” he said. “Leave the panties.” There was a quiet moment as he considered. “Corset and shirt off, too. I want to have all of you laid out in front of me.”

 

It took a moment to get her fingers coordinated enough to work the zipper on the back of her skirt, and to slip it off her hips. The leather ties on her corset were worse. If she’d had a knife, she would have seriously considered just cutting them and calling it a day. Her body was screaming for more of his touch, and her brain didn’t want to take the time to slow down and consider that she was having sex—kinky sex—with a total stranger. Who was still fully clothed and wearing his mask.

 

He laid a few things out on the bed next to her. A small stack of pillows. The foil square that she sometimes joked was the trademark of her generation. A riding crop. His shirt, taken off slowly. She couldn’t help herself; she knelt on the end of the bed and reached for him, taking a turn at running her tongue teeth over his flesh. He seemed to enjoy receiving the attention as much as he enjoyed giving it, which was lovely. He let her have her fun for a few moments, and then turned her with a sigh. He bent her over the stack of pillows so that her ass was high up in the air. “I’m going to start with my hand,” he said. His matter-of-fact tone was becoming decidedly less matter of fact. “We’ll see whether or not that’s enough punishment for you. If not, if you are still not behaving better, then we’ll move on to the riding crop.”

 

“And what if I’m very very good?” Zoey asked, hearing the breathy tone in her own voice as well.

 

“Then I will fuck you until you scream,” he said. The first blow came at the end of his last word. It stung like a bitch, and she had to cut off her first response, of angry demand and irritation. Because underneath the stinging, behind the humiliation, was a sense of hungry need roaring like a forest fire. It soaked her cunt, making the scraps of lace that passed for panties even more pathetic.

 

“Peaches,” she breathed. “Plums. Apples and blueberries.”

 

He paused, and this time, there was laughter in his voice. “I don’t know if you’re just saying something because you need to say something, or if you’re mocking the fact that tomatoes are apparently not a vegetable.”

 

“First one,” she whispered. “I’m still very very bad.”

 

“We’ll fix that,” he said. “All in good time.”

 

The second blow hit another spot, and she writhed again, her back arching, but she didn’t cry out this time. She could feel her body gaping open, desperate and hungry. It was like those times when she’d taken a sip of water, and found that in fact she was hungry, not only hungry, but ravenous. “Fuck me,” she whimpered. “Oh, god, please.”

 

He laughed behind her, and his hand smacked down on her ass again. She cried out, her hips angling up with the sting, then grinding down into the pillows, desperate for something to touch her, to fill her up, to take away thought and focus and control. “Not yet, princess,” he said. “There’s more for you.”

 

The slaps came, fast and hard, each one just a little bit harder than the last, until he was skirting the edges of what she could bear. How he knew what was too much, she didn’t know. He kept one hand between her shoulder blades, holding her steady, and the other abused her tender flesh, slapping at her backside, and her thighs, paddling her until she was sure she’d bruise, paddling her until she had run out of voice with which to scream. She sagged over the pillows, but not in desperation—in release. As he hit her again, she moaned, feeling the sensations past pain, the quiet trust and delighted need that came from knowing he’d stop if she wanted him to—and knowing that she didn’t want him to.

 

And then came the unzipping of his pants. Her panties slid down her legs, and she heard the foil square tear, and she glanced back to watch him slide the latex over his thick cock, shiny at the tip with his own arousal. He wasn’t particularly long, she thought, but as he brushed over the length of her engorged slit, she groaned, making herself think relaxing thoughts.

 

His hands gripped her hips, and he guided her back, gently, respectful of the flesh he’d bruised. He pressed just the tip of himself inside of her, and in spite of how slick and hot her flesh felt, he had to pause, pull out a tiny bit, and then work himself gently into her. He was bigger than she’d anticipated, and it had been an embarrassingly long time for her. He didn’t seem irritated, though, or pushy, just filled her up with a series of patient, almost delicate motions. She buried her face in her hands and absorbed the sensations. The delicate pull on proud flesh, the incredible sensation of being full of him.

 

He sighed, a deep sound that seemed to come from his toes. “You feel gorgeous, princess,” he said. “Holy shit, do you ever.”

 

She wanted to say something, but she was blurry happy and floating as he started to move gently within her, testing her responses and her arousal. “Mutual,” she managed to gasp out. Then she was without words.

 

He reached down for her, lifting her up some so that her back was more or less pressed against his torso. His thrusts were short, compensating for his length and her position. Once, he slipped out, and he had to nudge her knees further apart. But once he got his position solid, he took her left breast in one hand, and finally—finally—found her clit with the other. He found a rhythm to match between the strokes of his body and the slow and steady motions of his fingers, and the soft burning of her skin flaring against the brush of his pubic hair and his own body. Sensations swirled through her, from her clit to her belly and back again, and her cries were wordless, desperate, urgent. Behind her, his motions started to become punctuated with little grunts, the slap of their bodies joining, harder and faster.

 

The orgasm slapped into her like an ocean wave, and she went silent and still, her mouth wide open, but no sound coming out. She threw her head back onto his shoulder, and he groaned, pressing just a little bit harder with his fingers to tease every drop of come out of her that he could. “Yes, princess, just like that, that’s my good little girl. Come for me, yes—” and then his own urgency shattered into harsh, abrupt thrusts. He bore her down to the bed, slamming into her with harsh force. If she hadn’t been so wide open from the aftershocks that were still slipping through her with shivery delight, she was sure she would have had to tell him to stop. But he burst within moments, drilling deep into her and locking himself there, his hands on her hips, tugging him back to give him that extra little bit of depth, rolling his hips as he spasmed.

 

He went limp, draping down next to her and sighing happily, his hands stroking over her back. It took Zoey a moment to collect herself, stretching her legs out down, laying flat on her belly. As the euphoria faded, her ass felt bright with a stingy sort of pain, a deep down ache that still felt wonderful. He ran his hand over the roundness of her butt, and she flinched.

 

“Anything hurt more than it seems like it should?” he asked. “There’s ice packs in the kit, if you think that’ll help.”

 

His tone was caring, but more removed than it had been since they walked into the room. It left her—not feeling used, but also not particularly wanting to linger. “No, I think I’m fine,” she said. And she was. It was, in a way, exactly what she wanted. She’d always liked the edges of pain that she could get in her relationships, and she wanted to find a way to know if it was something she wanted to seek out. The answer, apparently, was a crystal clear hell yes.

 

But the man stretched out across from her, still wearing the mask of all the ridiculous things—well, he’d been very clear. He was not a one woman man. And she even if this was her first experience with this kind of sex, she wasn’t a virgin, hadn’t been for a long time. She knew the euphoria that came from a partnered orgasm, knew how it was different from love, and knew it would fade given time. “Thank you,” she said, instead of all the flowery romantic nonsense that was darting through her head. “That was—um, a lovely first experience. Which is helpful. Because figuring this stuff out is hard. Oh, fuck, I sound like an idiot, don’t I?”

 

“No,” he said. “You do not. You sound like someone who just came very hard. Possibly harder than she’s used to?”

 

She choked back the giggle that wanted to escape. “Possibly.”

 

Zoey could see a war going on in the man’s eyes. After a moment, he sighed. “I had more fun playing with you tonight than I’ve had in a while. I—shit, I don’t usually do this, but if you want to play again, some time, ask Chris to get in touch with Andy. And if you need another sponsor to get into the club, just let me know, okay?”

 

It was an odd way to get an invite for a second date, but what the hell, times changed. So far, this was a hell of a lot better than online dating. “Okay, sure,” she said. “Thank you.”

 

He didn’t ask for her name. She liked that. He did stand up and start to clean himself up. She liked that less. When she started to move, though, he smiled at her. “No need to rush. I paid for the room for four hours. There’s a shower through there, if you want, and snacks in the fridge.”

 

“I think I’ll head home,” she said. “I feel okay now, but I bet that this is going to hurt more in a little bit. I’d rather be home, where I can sit on an ice pack without harming my dignity.”

 

He chuckled. “Fair enough. After the ice, take a warm bath, if you have the time. But ice first.”

 

“Okay,” she said. “Thanks, Andy.”

 

Then, for the first time, he leaned in and brushed his lips, feather light, over hers. It sent a delightful little frisson down to parts of her that were too sore to respond. Much. “Any time,” he said. And then he was gone.

BOOK: Dirty Secrets
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